


Tales on the road

by tinbun



Category: American Truck Simulator (Video Game), Clownhouse Streams
Genre: American Gothic - Freeform, Blood and Gore, Gen, Horror, Paranormal, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinbun/pseuds/tinbun
Summary: Idk I just wanted to write fanfic of this for some reason.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	1. Ghost stories

“RamblinClown callin’ out to any other lone souls on the good ol’ CB tonight. Crrshz. That’s… that’s the sound of me turning my radio off.”

Silence followed.

The silence continued.

And continued.

The road was empty. The highbeams could hardly pierce the dark desert night. A quick peek at his GPS told him that there was only 4 hours left in the drive

Just as the trucker felt his eyes start to droop, static started running over the radio. He jolted up in surprise, the sudden sound almost deafening him. He adjusted the truck back between the lines with sweaty palms. “Uh? Hello hello? RamblinClown here. Any kindred spirits on the air right now? I sure would appreciate the company.”

The static continued.

And continued.

And continued.

“Hello? Heh, fallen asleep with your finger on the button buddy? Heh heh heh heh…”

Static continued.

Just as he was about to switch the frequency to end the fuzzy purgatory, he could hear a low gravely voice almost at the same tone of the static barely speak up.

“No no, nothing like that.”

“Oh! Hello hello, RamblinClown here, how’s this nigh-“

“Yes yes, I heard you the first two times.”

“Oh? Well I suppose I apologize then. I must’ve missed your response there. What did you say your name was?”

“Didn’t give no response, nor no name.”

Static continued.

He cleared his throat. “Ah… I see…”

Static.

Yet again he brought a shaky hand to the frequency dial, but just as he was about to twist it, or turn the radio off entirely, the voice froze his hand in place.

“Mr.Clown. What would you do if you found out youse was a terrible person?”

“Pardon?”

Static.

“Well. Erm. I suppose I’d try and right myself out then. Like any good person should.”

The quick response almost startled him.

“There’s a flaw in what you justs said, there is. You see, I said youse found out that you were a terrible person. So obviously you’re not a good enough person to right yourself out, now are you?”

“Well, you pose quite the strange conundrum then. Because I suppose I’d try and right myself out. So either that means I’m actually a good person, or the person you’re asking about ain’t me.”

Static.

“Is this perhaps one of them hypotheticals one asks when they’re asking about themselves?”

The static continued for quite some time. But he didn’t dare try and speak again.

The leather wheel grip between his hands was starting to get slick, despite the cool desert night.

The voice spoke slowly, almost carefully. As if every word mattered. “The Clown. The Jester. The Fool. They’re all the same to me, they are. But did you know it ain’t a bad thing to be a fool? In them tarot cards them mystics use, the fool means a fresh start. A blank slate.”

Static.

“Well I-“

“Do you think you’re good enough to be a fool?”

The static finally stopped.

The trucker almost forgot that he was driving the whole time until he noticed a figure at the side of the road. Humanoid. With a thumb sticking out.

He shut off the radio, pumped the breaks and stopped a few meters ahead of the figure.

He checked quickly for his pocketknife. Not that he really thought any hitchhiker would ever pull something, but the feeling of the steel against his palm helped ease his nerves.

He waited for a moment and checked his rearview mirror, waiting for the figure to enter the truck, but he couldn’t quite see anyone behind him since the night was so dark.

Just as he was about to assume that the figure either didn’t exist, or didn’t want his help, he heard a click at the door as it opened and someone crawled inside.

“Where you headin buddy?”

“That way.” The voice sent chills down the truckers spine. It was low. It was like someone gargling rocks, and yet it was neither feminine nor masculine. It was barely human. It reminded him of the voice on the radio.

The trucker turned his head, and saw the figure pointing straight ahead.

“C-Can do buddio.” Must’ve been his imagination. Couldn’t have been anything else.

The trucker kept his eyes on the road, but it was strange, despite just looking at the person, he couldn’t remember what they looked like. No discernible features could come to mind, only a finger pointing straight ahead. He felt the urge to peek over again, but the cabin was dark, and the quick glances did nothing for his mental image of the person.

“Sure is nice to have company tonight. It’s dangerous to be alone with your thoughts too long, amiright? Heh heh heh.”

There was no response, only quiet.

“Awfully dark and cold night for you to just be standing out here by yourself buddy. How’d you end up here? We’re miles away from any town.”

There was silence. But he could almost swear he heard static instead, echoing in his mind.

His palms continued to get damper and damper, he had never sweated this hard in his life.

Silence.

It was almost sticky now.

Silence.

It was hard to hang onto the wheel.

He didn’t even realize how hard he was breathing but he slammed the cabin light on with a grunt, turning his head to stare clearly at his passenger.

He didn’t even know what he was going to say to the stranger, but whatever it was got stuck in his throat as he stared at a cut up corpse in his passenger seat.

His hands were red.

His pocket knife was drenched.

It was dripping from his steering wheel.

It wasn’t just anybody in his passenger seat. It was a man. A man who looked an awful lot like himself.

Bile rose in his throat as he finally realized what all those pieces of fiction meant as ‘the smell of death’.

He threw up in his lap and slammed on the breaks, miraculously not crashing the truck as he heard it skirt on the sandy road.

Once the truck was stopped, he stumbled out, almost drowning himself in the fresh clean air. Crawling away from the truck he called his home. Sand mixed with the blood on his hands to make a gritty mud.

He shuddered on the ground for an unknowable amount of time.

He stood up.

He walked over to the cabin and pulled the passenger out, the sound of their skull hitting the hard ground almost making him start retching all over again.

What should he do?

He fumbled with his phone.

Who would he call?

He would never call the police and he had no idea what the number for the local health service was.

His shaky hands couldn’t even press the touchscreen correctly, and the bloody mud smeared across his screen, making it impossible to even see anything on it or type anything.

He took his flannel coat off, feeling far too warm. He pressed it into the passengers wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. There was no pulse.

He wiped the vomit from his mouth and bent over, starting CPR, knowing it was useless.

He continued.

And kept going.

He couldn’t even feel the ribs of the man beneath him anymore

It felt like dirt.

It was dirt.

He blinked.

There was no corpse beneath him.

There was no blood on his hands.

He went back to his truck.

There was no vomit.

There was no blood soaked cabin.

He put his flannel back on, got back in his seat, and turned the radio on.

There was static.

He started driving.

Was he a fool?

His GPS said there was 4 hours to go.


	2. Fear of change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love all the truckers but MamaBear talking about transing her gender made her my favorite instantly.

“How did you decide your trucker name MamaBear” Daytime, thankfully. He had started to enjoy the crowded streets. Other people around meant he could distance his mind from that last job. He had vowed to never take a desert job again.

“Well that’s quite easy. I’m a mama bear. So I went with MamaBear. Easy peasy. Hoo hoo hoo. What abouts you RamblinClown?”  
  


“I don’t really think I meant to come up with it. I do ramble, and I am a clown. But I dunno what really possessed me to pick it. Kinda spur of the moment when good ol’ WallyWog asked me for it.”

“D’ya wanna change it? As a friendly bear who transed her gender a long time ago, changing a name ain’t really nothin big.”

He gripped his wheel a bit tighter, as if just to convince himself that there was nothing slick on his hands. “I s’pose not. I dunno. I just feel so… locked in. Yeah, I could change it. I could trans my gender, I could stop being a trucker. There’s really nothing stopping me from changing anything. Nothing real anyways. But, I feel like once I start changing things, there’s no goin’ back. Y’know?’

“Hmm. Well here’s some words a’ wisdom from good ol’ MamaBear. I say take every chance for change you cans get. The only thing stopping you from changin’ is your own fear. Not that fear isa bad thing a’course. There’s no such thing as a bad emotion, nosiree, you jus’ can’t let it control you. The moment you let any emotion control you, is when it gets bad. Recklessly chasin’ after happiness? That’s bad. Puttin’ yourself in dangerous situations just to feel excitement? That’s bad. But conversely, fear stoppin’ you from hurtin’ yourself? That’s good. Anger fuelin’ you to stop the injustice you sees around ya? That’s good. Just can’t separate your mind and your heart for too long with any emotion.”

He wrung his hands on the wheel, finding comfort in the creak of the leather. “Yeah yeah, you’re right.”

“MamaBear is always right and don’t you never forgets it! Hooo hoo hohoho”

He rolled his shoulders back, relaxing and pondering MamaBear’s words for a moment, and enjoying the sound of her laughter. Before he could get too relaxed though, he felt a thud shake through his cabin, prompting him to yelp. “Jesus Christ! That scared the bejeezus outta me! Must’ve hit a pothole or something. “

“Dam governerment needs to use our tax dollars for something useful fer once as opposed to just fundin’ the military.”

“Fukin, governerment… Whatcha haulin today MamaBear?”

“Just the usual lumber. I’m the only gal these folks would trust with lumber this good. Best got dam trucker this side of the ‘sippi. Hoo hoo hoo, get it? Dam? Lumber? Hoo hohoho. That joke was weak. Anywho whats about you?”

“I-“ He paused for a moment, thinking. “I’m actually not too sure. They just kinda hooked up to my cabin and told me where to go.”

“These got dam employerers ain’t even tell you what you’re haulin? Don’t they know that’s one of the only things us truckers can talk about when we runs outta all other topics?”

“Well maybe they did. I jus’ don’t know. My memory ain’t what it used to be.” He just couldn’t trust his mind anymore after that night.

“At your age hun? Naw, I’m sure you’re right. Them folks don’t know what’s important to us. They think all we do is move things from point A to point B. They don’t appreciate the art of the haul.”

“Nah they sure don-“ Another harsh thud cut him off. Making him yell right into the mic.

“Jeezus boy did they just forget to pave the fukin’ road?”

He looked out, and checked his rearview mirrors. The road looked fine and no one else seemed to be jumping around in their vehicles. “I… I guess not. Fuckin governerment.”

“Fuckin Governerment indeed…” he looked down at his fuel gauge, groaning at how low it was getting. “God damn it all to heck and back. I’ll have to get back to you in a bit MamaBear. Need to refuel the girl. Whatever they got me haulin in heavy as fuck and drainin me fast.”

“Ten-Four good buddy. I’ll leave you to it.”

He drove to the nearest stop and switched his radio off as he powered down his truck. He got a hotdog and waited for the tank to fill up. As he leaned on the pump and waited, he couldn’t help but nothing a slight dent on the trailer. He wasn’t the best driver around, so a small dent or two wasn’t completely unnatural, but what was strange was that the dent was pushing out. “Damn did they forget to secure their load inside or somethin?”

He ran his hand along the trailer, finding a couple of the bumps along the trailer in different places.

He took another bite of his hotdog.

The following thud almost made him spit it back out.

The entire trailer shook as he coughed and gagged on the wiener in his mouth.

Another larger dent was pointed right to his head.

It was entirely possible that a dresser or something inside just decided to settle at that moment. But now that he was on high alert, he could almost swear he could hear scraping coming from the inside. Breathing even.

He moved to the back of the trailer and put his hands on the latches, ready to go in and check what exactly was going on inside of whatever he was hauling. But his hands froze on the latch. Not moving. Not doing anything.

Another thud. Again coming from the inside. Again pushing out towards him.

He heard the gas stop pumping.

He felt his heart stop beating.

The scraping was unmistakable now. Something labored within. It was tired. It had to drag itself alongside the inside of the trailer.

His hands remained on the latches.

He was afraid.

“Hey buddy, you gonna pay for this?” The elderly woman who sold him his hotdog stood near his meter, tapping her foot.

“Ah yes. Sorry Ma’am.”

He took his hands off the latches and moved over, paying quickly.

The irritation faded from the woman’s face as she saw him pay. “Saw you choking on that dog a moment ago. You’re a bit clammy, d’ya need a drink to wash it down?”

“Nah nah I’m fine Ma’am sorry ‘bout that.”

She shrugged and walked back into the gas station as he hopped into his cabin. He turned everything back on.

“RamblinClown callin’ back in. Y’there MamaBear?”

“Hey there clowny! How’d the stop treat ya?”

“Fine, fine.”

The sound of ripping metal came from behind him as his entire truck seemed to jolt forward a little, despite the fact that the two ton vehicle was still parked.

“Ja-heezus Christ Ramblin, was that another of them potholes? Where you drivin? I need to avoid goin’ there.”

He gulped. “Ha, yeah just a pothole.”

“Damn governerment.”

“Fukin governerment.”

He started driving, ignoring the sounds behind him.

Afraid of the sounds behind him.


End file.
